The Tears of a Doctor's Detective
by Redderhead
Summary: A RETURN fic: Johnlock. Sherlock comes home to pick up the pieces and make a rather important deduction. Rated K for fluffiness and use of tears!


_I'm back(!) but I still own nothing!_

**The Tears of a Doctor's Detective**

The days were strange following Sherlock Holmes' return from the dead. John hadn't questioned it. Not yet. The Doctor had simply opened the front door and allowed the shadow of a man he had thought dead for three years inside.

The two men didn't speak, not at first. Throughout the course of a single day; John would simply carry out a routine health check, make sure food was consumed and tea was drunk by the ex-consulting detective. It wasn't until the skeleton had started to sleep that a word had been spoken.

The flat was warm, a fire in the grate crackling and snapping in the otherwise dark living room of their old living quarters. The curtains were pulled closed to block out the cold of the winters night seeping through the old fashioned window panes. Sherlock had awoken on the couch of the familiar surroundings. He spotted John and sat for a long time observing him.

"Where is Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock croaked, his voice almost unrecognisable.

"With her sister in Oxford" John replied flatly, turning the page of his broadsheet without looking up.

"You are angry with me" Sherlock observed after yet another minute or two of silence.

"Nope" John retorted appearing as uninterested as possible.

"John" Sherlock tried, his voice warming now through its use.

"What do you need, Sherlock" John asked, not looking up.

After another few minutes had passed, Sherlock sniffed once, twice, before speaking one word as if his heart were breaking.

"You" the consulting detective said weakly.

John's head snapped up at this uncharacteristic and worrying behaviour, the doctor viewed the sallow faced weak detective as he sat wrapped in a red blanket, sitting cross legged on their tattered leather couch.

"What?" John asked tentatively.

"Please, John, talk to me, shout at me, fight me, anything, please anything but this _silence_" Sherlock pleaded, his face glistening in the firelight as tears rolled freely down his cheeks. "Make me believe I did the right thing, it had to be the right thing" Sherlock continued, his red eyes fixed on John.

"You _left _me…your friend…for _three. Years_" John said slowly, making sure that every word was clear and understood, his right hand raised, his index finger straight, facing the floorboard as he jutted it up and down in time with his words. "You led me to believe that you were de-" John stopped to turn his face away, he swallowed thickly and turned back to the detective with renewed strength. "You killed yourself in front of me" He finished flatly.

"Because you would have been killed in front of me if I had not done so" Sherlock said sadly, his swollen and red eyes staring unblinkingly at the shorter man.

"Moriarty…he was real, John. He…he was going to kill you if I did not finish it myself" Sherlock started, looking down for a brief moment resulting in further fresh tears erupting from his glistening eyes. "I had no choice, John" The detective said quietly.

"But, if he was going to kill me, why didn't he just do it even after you threw yourself off-" John's voice cracked under emotion filled strain.

"I faked my death in order to protect you" Sherlock said, his expression becoming murderous as he looked up at John through dark eyelashes. "I led you to believe I was dead because it was kinder than finding me dead in another country if I did not succeed. But I did. I traced each member of Moriarty's web, and I killed them" He said in a whisper, wrapping his blanket tightly around himself.

"How many?" John whispered in a shocked horror.

"142" Sherlock said promptly. "I travelled 3 continents." He continued. "And I killed them all".

Silence resumed in the suddenly small living room of 221B Baker Street save for the fire dwindling in the grate.

"Please, John" Sherlock pleaded once more, making the Army Doctor look toward him once more. "Please, don't stop talking. I have…_missed _you so much…I have given three years of my life away to keep you safe…surely…that _must_ stand for something good" The consulting detective said brokenly.

John didn't reply straight away. He simply folded the broad sheet and threw it on the fire from his current position in his adopted armchair, watching it catch and melt with a palm against his cheek.

"I have been through hell and back in three years, Sherlock" John said gently. He straightened his left hand on the arm of the chair, his gold wedding band glistening in the dark room. "I broke when you left" John mumbled, his eyes becoming moist at the raw memory. "Broke more than I ever did in Afghanistan" he said with a bitter laugh. "I didn't eat, sleep, socialise, bathe." John counted off. "I simply sat in your room and stared at your violin" the doctor admitted. "I found a needy woman eventually, she promised she could fix me…she died a year after we met, cancer" the soldier recounted with a sad nod. "I was sad when Mary died…" John said slowly, looking down at his knees. "…but I was inconsolable knowing that you weren't there to pick up the pieces" he finished, looking up at Sherlock with an equally wet face.

Sherlock struggled to his feet then, making the journey, if not rather wobbly, toward John's chair, where he tumbled to the floor at his feet and leaned forward, placing his forehead on John's right knee.

John laughed darkly. "All those times, I tried to shun away the rumours….all along, they were true" he said hopelessly, looking back to his wedding band.

"You didn't marry her" Sherlock deduced, his voice muffled from his sitting position.

John shook his head indicating a 'no' and he broke into a sob. He quickly raised his right hand to his mouth to stifle the sound as he unwillingly unleashed the pain he had been holding in for far too long.

Sherlock lifted his head and looked sadly up at the doctor from his position on his knees at the doctor's feet. Untangling himself from the fleece lined blanket, Sherlock reached forward with both hands and clasped John's hips. The denim of his jeans feeling warm and real as the detective used all of his strength to pull the soldier to the floor in front of him. John's sobbing stopped when his rear bounced uncomfortably off the hard wood of the floorboards. With a questioning glance toward the doctor, Sherlock tentatively turned the wedding band around John's finger, instantly revealing the neat inscription on the back. The unusual name that meant a million adventures, the name that signified sure danger and witty smirks, the name that had become famous and infamous throughout the World, the name that John Watson's heart beated for, was right there for all the World to see.

'_Sherlock H'._

John's sobs subsided slowly, leaving both men drained and feeling rather odd.

Eventually, John made the move, leaning toward the detective and placing his forehead against the younger man's warming and slender neck.

Sherlock shifted closer, pulling the doctor into his lap as he turned them toward the fire, grasping the blanket and wrapping them both inside it.

"Don't ever leave me again, Sherlock" John said weakly, his hand grasping Sherlock's under the blanket.

"Never" Sherlock confirmed, his voice resonating through the doctor's back and warming his hardened heart.

After an hour or so of sitting this way, Sherlock's legs had unsurprisingly gone numb. Shifting the doctor a little, Sherlock realised that the older man had fallen asleep against him. Being careful, Sherlock successfully freed his legs but woke the Doctor in the process.

"Sher'lock" John mumbled sleepily.

"I'm still here, John" Sherlock reassured in a whisper, leaning back against the armchair, his arms still tight around the shorter man.

John turned his head ever so slightly and kissed the detective's lips gently. Being caught unaware, Sherlock was only able to stay put with wide eyes allowing John to kiss him. When the doctor pulled away he looked at Sherlock tentatively.

"Kiss me" He requested quietly.

"How?" Sherlock whispered, his eyes wide as he looked down at his friend in confusion.

John slowly clambered to his knees and turned round between the detective's spread and tingling legs, his hands cupping Sherlock's neck comfortingly.

"Follow my lead" John said quietly, leaning in once more and kissing the detective gently. After a moment, Sherlock picked up the knack and encouraged John's attentions with a warm tongue across the soldier's bottom lip.

The space was quiet, no sighs of contentment, no moans of delight, no obscene groaning in pleasure. Instead, the space was quiet, comforting, familiar, warm and safe, the sound of lips smacking was unheard by the two taking part, their breaths being shared through their noses as the kiss explored new territory nervously.

Eventually, craving some order to the situation, Sherlock pushed the doctor back ward until the two lay on the rug in front of the fire. Covering the older man with his body, Sherlock proceeded to run his hands up the front of John's jumper, revelling in the feeling of warm skin beneath. The glancing of eyes spoke volumes as John lifted his own hands to swiftly rid the detective of his grey t-shirt and feel his ribs through his skin. The kiss resumed and seemed to become softer than before, the doctor telling his patient that he should of taken care of himself, not that it didn't matter now because John would take care of Sherlock from now on.

Breaking the kiss lightly, Sherlock allowed ragged breaths to rack his lungs as he looked down at the Doctor with nervousness he had not felt since he was young.

"First time?" John diagnosed quickly from his position on the floor.

Sherlock's sharp eyes scanned the Doctor's face greedily and allowed a curt nod to confirm John's guess was correct.

The doctor raised a hand to cup the detective's cheek softly, smiling as Sherlock leaned into the touch instantly.

"Me too" John murmured.

"With a male partner?" Sherlock queried, his eyebrows suddenly furrowing.

"That too, but I was going for 'with someone I love'" John said with a chuckle, tilting his head to look up at the detective, admiring the man in the fire's glow.

Sherlock sat back on his heels now, looking down at John with a slight look of surprise.

"What?" John said propping himself up on his elbows.

"You love me?" Sherlock questioned lightly.

"Of course I love you, I got married to you when you were '_dead_'" John said incredulously, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

"Yes, how exactly _did _you do that?" Sherlock questioned with his trademark high eyebrow.

"Mycroft arranged it" John said with a shrug as though it was obvious.

Sherlock smiled and started to laugh.

"D-did he know you were still alive?" John questioned incredulously, sitting up now to look at Sherlock seriously.

"Of course he did, who do you think sent me information, funds and paid for the flat in my absence?" Sherlock said rather cheerfully.

"I knew about the rent, but…but…that means that….Sherlock….are we really married?" John asked tentatively.

"If Mycroft has anything to do with it, then yes. We are." Sherlock smirked.

"We need to go to the cemetery" John murmured distractedly.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, realising why immediately after he had asked. "There's a ring for me too isn't there?" the detective asked.

John blushed a little but nodded none-the-less.

Sherlock pushed at John's chest lightly, making the soldier recline back onto the floor with a questioning look up at the detective.

"It can wait" The younger man said with a smirk before leaning down, one hand either side of John's head taking his weight on the floor. "We need to consummate this marriage first" he murmured just before his lips once more made contact with the doctor's in an expertly executed loving kiss.


End file.
